The bag flapped open on the bed, a shirt or two tossed on top of it as Holly began to rummage through the dresser drawers. Though she wouldn't be going for a couple of days, she had wanted to be prepared for it. On the end of the bed, Steve sat with his hands folded in his lap, concern on his face.
"You sure about this, doll?" he asked, seemingly for the millionth time (in her exaggerated estimation). Fiddling a little with the wristband of his watch, he stated, "It's cutting it awfully close."
Her shoulders tensed for a moment before she dropped the shorts she was holding back into the drawer. Turning to face him, she exhaled slowly, noting the genuine concern in his face and inwardly conceding the truth of his words. It was close, close to the due date for the baby, and traveling extensively was not ideal. However, it wasn't going to be for long, or too far away. It was doable, in her opinion, and more to the point, it was something she really wanted to do. When she'd gotten the email from the publisher that morning, with the final count of printed copies of her book ready for shipment the next week, she'd been ecstatic. And when she read further down, saw that the office in New York wanted to put together a celebration in her honor, she was entirely floored. They had asked for the earliest tentative date that she could give them for it, and she immediately fell on Saturday. That it was the Saturday before her due date was something that could be dealt with, she'd decided. All she needed to do then was to convince Steve of the same.
"Yeah, but I'm starting maternity leave on Monday, anyway," she pointed out, defending her position as she had for the last five minutes. Her coworkers had set up a little going-away lunch for her leave on Friday, and once she'd finished her shift, she was free for six weeks (six weeks of half-pay, but she was grateful for it; not many companies in the country even had that much set up for pregnant employees). "I've gotta go. They don't do promotional parties for everyone. I mean, it's only going to be a small number of staff there, but still, they don't do that nowadays unless they think it'll do well."
Blue eyes skittered away from brown, and he mumbled, "Uh-huh."
Sighing, Holly raked a hand through her loose hair, blowing out a breath before she looked at him again. The pensive expression on his face had not melted, nor had the concern disappeared.
"Steve, I'm not going to miss this," she told him, taking a step closer to the bed. How could she make him understand? Lighting upon an answer, she made an analogy to illustrate her point. "It'd be like a major gallery deciding to feature your art for a night. Could you turn down going to that, really?"
Steve's head tilted to the left, his lips thinning as his eyebrow arched.
"If I were about to pop?" he posited sardonically, flicking his gaze to her belly again. She took in a deep breath, ready to retaliate, but she was preempted by the palm he raised. "Okay, okay. I understand, really. But I'm going to go with you."
Holly tilted her head to the left, narrowing her gaze a bit. "Can't trust me by myself, Mother Hen?"
"Or I'm proud of you, and want to celebrate with you," he countered lightly. And he was, truly; it was just buried under the worry of leaving the area in which they had planned to have their son, even if he wasn't supposed to come for a few more days. Exhaling sharply, he ran a hand through his hair before standing, going to her and taking her hands in his. "And if something does happen, I can help you."
She couldn't stop the scoff that tumbled over her lips. "What, like I'm gonna shoot the little guy out right then and there, and you'll be there to grab him?"
"I'll do what I have to," he replied staunchly, chin dipping in a nod. After a moment, he furrowed his brow, mulling over what she'd said. "Although the online childbirth videos didn't really teach us how to catch a baby-sized infield fly."
A snicker shot out of her before she could help it, the sudden visual in her mind too much to ignore. The online courses they'd taken over the last few weeks had been informative (and so much better for them, given how little time he had to spare for a traditional course), but they hadn't quite taught fathers to do that for their newborns. She would know; they had a notebook filled with bullet points that had no mention of such things.
"You'd need one hell of a glove to catch him with." They shared a smirk at that, smiles lingering as the quiet settled for a few moments. Squeezing his hands, her features took on a contemplative slant, and she asked him, "If I called Carol to get her opinion and some necessary info in case anything does happen, would that help?"
Inclining his head, Steve confirmed, "It would."
Nodding, she crossed the room to the far wall and reached down into the hospital bag that was prepared (already full of clothes, toiletries, and other goods for her eventual stint after the birth), the new sheet of paper attached to the birth plan they had drawn up fluttering as she held it out.
"Then it's a good thing I already did that."
Taking the paper from her, Steve scanned over the listed hospitals in New York City that Doctor Watson thought would suit their needs best in case anything happened. As well as that, she had jotted down the numbers of a few doctors who would be either on call or willing to work with them. And while she did not have privileges with those hospitals, the listed doctors were trusted colleagues who would allow her to communicate with them if anything arose that they could not handle. All this was written in Holly's neat script, and he snorted to himself.
"Outflanked me before we even got into it," he muttered, bright eyes glimmering as he glanced back up at her. "Should've known."
She lifted a shoulder, the corner of her mouth curving. She called the doctor over her break, not willing to just take a chance on fate. No, she'd rather be prepared.
"When you live with a master tactician, you tend to pick up a few things," she responded, stepping back and leaning against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest. Taking a deep breath, Steve acquainted himself with the new information for several more moments, straightening his stance when he handed the papers back. If they wanted to make good time, they would have to leave no later than nine in the morning on Saturday, Holly's pleased grin his reward.
That and the kiss she planted on his cheek before shuffling into the closet to decide what else to pack for the both of them for the weekend.
xXxXxXx
As decided, the couple drove to New York City bright and early on Saturday morning, the end of July heat shimmering around them as they went. Intending to stay through until the following night or Monday morning, they elected to occupy the quarters set up for them at the Tower, JJ's voice accompanied by a greeting from Tony as they parked. Relations were repaired enough between him and Steve that they could actually meet up with the billionaire, the common area on the top floor open for them to have lunch. Pepper was there as well, though she was due out on a flight that evening for a meeting at the home offices on Monday. Though it had begun initially in awkwardness, Holly and Pepper had come to the silent agreement to engage in idle banter, stories gathered over the last few months allowing their male companions to be at ease with each other once again.
The rest of the day passed lazily after that, with husband and wife taking their ease around the quarters until the hour of the party approached. The heat in the city pierced them even as they climbed into a cab and headed farther into midtown, deposited just off the corner of the publishing house's building. Once they had found their way inside, they were directed to the seventh floor. As promised, the get-together was small, selected editors and their partners on the floor along with the publishers responsible for the book's debut (Holly's agent was out of town for the weekend, but sent on her best wishes). Passing cubicles, they went into a wide conference room, devoid of furniture save for a couple small tables at the back and a food service set-up along the far wall. The cover artwork, depicting a young woman pressing two fingers to her temple and projecting an aura around her, was blown up, hanging from the wall above the snack tables. Holly stared at it for a long moment, even after she had been tapped by Steve a few times to bring her back into the present.
It had happened; her book was finally published, after years of work, and trial and error. And she was savoring it, truly...except for the aches and cramps digging into her lower abdomen. It had been happening on and off since approximately six that evening, and while they were a bother, she ignored them. As best she could, anyway. Once the distractions of introductions and well-wishes were passed, she could feel herself start to wilt. Her husband had gone off, fetched her a cup of water, but he could see that she was no better by the time he'd returned.
"You feeling okay?" Steve asked in a hushed tone, his hand settling in the small of her back.
"Just very hot," she groused out the corner of her mouth. Despite the air conditioning working hard in the office, she could still feel the beads of sweat pooling and dropping down her back. Cramps were gripping at her gut, but she chalked it up to being on her feet for too long. Shifting from foot to foot to alleviate the ache, she continued, "God, why do I have to carry this kid in the middle of summer?"
Soothing circles were rubbed against her shirt, and he sheepishly grinned. "On the positive side, he's almost out, so it won't be for much longer."
Holly clicked her tongue before letting a chuckle work its way out. "Good point."
The pair was approached by a couple of new editors, some who were avid Captain America fans, and while he no longer held the title, he indulged them in answering a few questions. When they bid him to come with them, meet their gathered families, he cast a fast glance to his wife. Flapping a hand, she silently bade him to go, leaving her on her own for the moment. A gentle tap came on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Upon noting who had gotten her attention, she attempted to relax, snickering to herself. It was the head publisher, Marcia Stanton. She was the one who had read her manuscript at the behest of the agent, and who had eventually ordered a contract to be drawn up and got her on her way. She definitely could spare her a minute or two of her time.
"Congratulations, Holly," the older woman extolled, giving her a warm handshake. Tucking back some of her loose, gray-blonde hair behind her ear, she brushed down her skirt before saying, "Took a look at the pre-sales; things are looking good so far."
A flood of relief filled Holly's heart; she had hoped that her attempts at self-advertising would help, and evidently that was the case.
"Keeping my fingers crossed," the younger woman responded, a minute wince playing across her features. As her hand pressed along the swell of her stomach, she shifted from foot to foot, and Marcia smiled in sympathy.
"And there's more that needs to be given, I see." She was aware of Holly's pregnancy, as it had prevented her from considering a promotional tour for her book, but she could not recall how far along she was. If she had to guess, she was close, but she was determined to have confirmation. "When's the little one due again?"
"Four days, if all goes as planned."
Marcia blew out a low whistle. "Wow, brave of you to journey down here for this."
"Better now than later, right?" Holly replied, smirking a little. It grew slightly bashful as she waved a hand towards the others milling about, to the promotional art for the book in place above the snack tables. "And thanks, for...well."
The older woman followed her gaze, confidence in her expression as she drew herself to her full height.
"You have a story to tell, and it's better than a lot of the things that have been dropped on my desk. I didn't want to let that chance pass."
"Despite the pseudonym," the newly-published author retorted, the curve of her mouth inviting her to laugh a little, too. Marcia nodded, her graying blonde hair swinging about her shoulders.
"Again, it was a chance, and I wasn't going to let it slide," she affirmed, arching an eyebrow and smirking herself. "Regardless of the name attached to it."
Holly grinned at that, and allowed the conversation to be steered towards trivialities. When the pleasantries were exhausted, the younger woman stepped away, eager to get another drink of water and some of the hors d'ouevres. The publisher's eyes tracked her across the room, her expression remaining pleasant as the brunette sidled up to her husband. He tipped his head, nodding once as she squeezed his bicep, eyes warming as he watched her walk towards the others to socialize. Swirling the drink in her cup, Marcia approached the fellow who had until recently been known as Captain America. Though he had been polite, it didn't take a genius to note that he did not feel comfortable there, and she wanted to remedy that, if she could. They shared a nod in greeting, a firm handshake of reintroduction paving the way. Banal chit-chat was engaged, though she found that his gaze trailed off of her to his wife every few seconds. One time, she followed it, noting the unconscious smile on his lips as the younger woman laughed at something one of the editors said.
"You must be proud," she remarked quietly, her mouth curling as they both witnessed Holly explaining a plot point, animated gestures joining her phrasing. Out the corner of her eye, she spotted the steady surety in his gaze.
"I've always been of her," he stated simply, his shoulders squared and his grin genuine. "Even more so, now."
They shared another look, and nothing more said between him and the publisher. Music poured in from a boom box perched in the corner, and soon enough Holly had returned to his side. A few of the editors had returned as well, phones at the ready. While her contract stipulated that in no way, shape, or form could her status—or, more specifically, her husband's status—be used as part of the promotion for her book or the company, that wasn't to say the fans of his there wouldn't want to get in a few pictures. Awkwardly, they shuffled in close, picture after picture taken as another bead of sweat trickled down her spine, her smile losing its intensity with each tap of the screens. Steve held her close, his arm locked securely around her to help keep her upright, his polite demeanor plastered on throughout. Once they had finished, he asked if they could look at the photos, just in case anything unflattering popped up.
"Aw, look at that, you're glowing," her husband said, smiling fondly as he handed her the phone of the last person to check out the picture. She grinned as well, though she did allow a snort out of her nose.
"More like sweating to death," she croaked, the device pressed back into his grip. Handing the phone back to the owner, he bent and pecked Holly on the temple.
"Glowing," he corrected mildly, the affection for her lining his irises. Spying the upsurge of his emotion, she blinked and felt her smile grow wider.
"Oh…" she crooned, before reaching up and pinching his cheek. "Cheeseball."
Shaking her off, he crooked an arm around her shoulders, his hand coming up and tugging on her earlobe.
"Never claimed otherwise," he muttered as she yelped in surprise. Taking another fast glance at the party, at the people already departing, he turned to her. "Ready to get out of here?"
Holly let her gaze wander to the dwindling attendees, to the clock on the wall as it ticked past nine o'clock, and felt yet another cramp seize her. She'd had her moment, and there was no shame in bowing out then.
"Yeah, let's go."
Politely bidding good-bye to the other guests and to Marcia, they made their way out of the publishing house, the heat of the day having barely relented in that time. Within the hour, the couple had returned to the Tower, a call upstairs made to let Tony know that they had returned. The tech genius thanked them for their report, and instructed that they stay away from R&D until further notice, as he was neck-deep in building and could not spare time or energy for their safety. Steve shook his head at that, and Holly merely told the older man good-night. To bed they went, though her cramp stayed with her even as she changed into her sleepwear. Along with that, the sweat on her body had not cooled, and roughly an hour after lights out, she was still achy and overheated. Matters were not helped when Steve insisted on clinging to her in his sleep, spooning her and his arm curling over her.
"No arm, too heavy," she crowed sleepily. Attempting to lift it off, she was rewarded with him pulling her tightly against him. She stifled a groan at the uncomfortable wash of body heat flowing from him to her, and wriggled as his puffs of breath coursed across her neck. It was too much to deal with, and so she tapped his arm until he shifted and grunted. "Hon, you're too hot. Move over."
"'Kay. Sorry," Steve mumbled, his arm releasing her and providing her with some relief. He went further by shuffling back to his side of the bed and turning over, eyes still shut. Shaking her head, Holly stared at the opposite wall for several long moments. The ache in her back and the cramps were not alleviated, and with a groan she got out of the bed, pillow in hand as she left the room. One of the upsides of the quarters in the Tower was the amount of space; she could walk around it and not feel trapped or constricted like in a small apartment. Taking a lap around the living area, she moved through the kitchen and dining spaces, spasms twinging across her belly and up her back. A yawn coursed out, and eventually she waddled (and she knew that she very much did so, given how low the baby was those days) to the couch. Forgoing grabbing a blanket from the hall closet, she reclined on the cushions, the throw pillows piled up to elevate her back and her regular pillow stuffed on top for her neck. The cooler air of the room finally penetrated the heat that had surrounded her all day, and finally, finally, she was able to drop off.
That lasted a few hours, when her aches roused her once more. Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, she blinked against the low lamplight coming from the kitchen. As well as that, the lights of the city bled into the room, the darkness at bay for the moment. Dropping her palm into her lap, she realized that a thin sheet had been spread over her legs. A snuffling snort came from her left, and when she glanced down, she blew a sigh out her nose. Steve was there, curled up in a blanket and an arm crooked under his head acting as his pillow. Turning to lay on her side, she let one hand drift down, tapping the end of his nose. Wrinkling it, he shook his head in his slumber, waking only when the taps persisted. When his eyes fluttered open, he groaned aloud, her smug smile at catching him out broadening as he did so.
"Dork. That whole bed, and you still pick the floor," she murmured. Fingers curled around her palm, and she caught his muffled sigh. Glancing down again, she saw the glimmer in his blue eyes as he looked up at her.
"You're here," he stated simply, scooting a bit closer to the couch before letting go. "'Course I picked the floor."
The sweetness of the gesture made warmth bloom in her heart, but she still shook her head at him.
"Again, I say 'dork.' Go back to sleep," she bid him, lids drifting shut as he mumbled in compliance. Sleep remained elusive for her, and before too long she was awake again, staring up at the barely-lit ceiling. The pain in her lower half was not abating in the least, and she could not handle being on her back anymore. Nothing was getting rid of the ache, and to top it off, her throat was incredibly dry.
'Water, water would be good,' she thought, rubbing under her eyes. Pushing the sheet off, she slowly scooted to the end of the couch, rising and stepping carefully around Steve's legs as she went. The cramping in her lower belly spiked as she went, the timing between them shortening little by little. When she reached the sink in the kitchen (the clock on the stove reflecting it to be nearly 3 AM), the ache had ratcheted up into pain. When it subsided briefly, she took her chance to get a plastic cup out of the cupboard, filling it and swallowing a few large gulps before the next one hit. Her brain caught up with her, told her that she could deny it all she wanted, but the aches were not going to go away.
"Oh, that, that is not cramps," she groaned, finally accepting the truth in that instant. Tightness ripped into her lower belly, and she braced her free hand on the edge of the counter. "Ah..."
Dropping her empty cup into the sink, it clattered loudly, but she couldn't be bothered to to care. Instead, she concentrated on taking in deep breaths and not jack-knifing to relieve the pressure.
"Doll?" Steve's voice echoed after a few moments, no doubt woken by the noise and confused as to why she was no longer beside him.
Curling her fingers harder into the counter's edge, she hoarsely called, "In here."
The tread of his footsteps halted at the edge of the tile, and when she glanced up, she saw the worry etched into his face, fingers dropping from attempting to fix his sleep-ruffled locks.
"What is it?" he asked, coming forward and reaching out to her. Her free hand went up, palm out to stop him.
"Contractions," she gasped out, fist clenching on the counter as the frissons of pain ebbed. "Real ones."
Steve froze, his body taut and his gaze unyielding.
"You sure it's not Braxton Hicks," he said. "Absolutely sure?"
"Yeah, this feels different." That was putting it mildly. The cramps had escalated enough to the point that she wanted nothing more than to fold in on herself to stop it. "This is different from earlier."
Steve gaped at her for a moment. "You were having these earlier? Why didn't you say anything?!"
"Because I just thought that it wasn't the real thing!" she snapped back, unable to withhold her frustration. She'd been experiencing moments of Braxton Hicks contractions on and off over the last month, and it had always come to nothing in the end. Sure, she was closer to her time than before, but she did not think that it would get to that point. Clearly, she was wrong that time.
"Okay, okay!" he crowed, waving a hand through the air before stepping closer to her. "Do you need me to get you anything?"
Her hand uncurled, reaching out for him as she shook her head. "No, just walk with me a minute."
Heeding her plea, he looped an arm around her waist, allowing her to tread away from the kitchen to the main living space. Under her breath, she mumbled numbers, counting the seconds between contractions as they went. As her body stiffened and and curled in every few minutes to endure the pain, Steve bit his lip. He didn't like watching his wife go through this form of agony, and he did not know how to help her otherwise. Save for one thing.
"We should go," he told her, fingers twitching against her sleep shirt. Her head jerked, as though she were denying him, and his free hand came up, tilting her chin up to see the total seriousness in his gaze. "Holly, you need to go to the hospital."
Just as he completed his sentence, she paused, her fingers digging hard into his arm. Something like the snap of a rubber band popped in his ears, and he furrowed his brow, wondering what it was. A whisper and a rush followed, and as he looked for the source, he noticed the flush of wetness spreading suddenly over Holly's bottoms. As the light blue material darkened, he swallowed hard, looking up in time to see her eyes widen.
"...Yeah, I do," she agreed, almost breathlessly, her grip intensifying and her lip bitten as another contraction pierced her.
"Did…did…" he stammered, staring down at the wetness now sprinting down her legs. A whimper and her clipped nod were all the answer he needed. At once, his spine stiffened, his commander persona taking the reins so that he could care for his wife. He had to not panic, had to keep his emotions under tight control, for her and the baby. Steering her into the bedroom, he helped her change into clean bottoms, with padding added to absorb the flow as much as possible. Quickly, he went about getting dressed properly himself, his wallet and phone hastily snatched from the dresser, a ball cap crammed onto his head as he went. The hospital bag, their near-constant companion over the last few days, came to hand easily as he began to guide Holly out to the elevator. On second thought, he rushed back into the quarters before the conveyance arrived, snatching up the sheet and blanket by the couch for the car ride. As they descended, they realized that attempting to drive up to Saratoga Springs would be futile; with her water breaking, she was afraid that she would end up having their son in the car on the way up. A nearby hospital, one of those that Carol had suggested in case they had any issues, would have to suffice. However, by the time they reached the garage, Steve had realized he'd forgotten something important.
"Damn, the keys," he grumbled, giving his pockets the pat-down one last time to confirm he had left them behind. Holly ground out a moan of pain and irritation, eyelids slamming shut when she understood what was going on. Swiftly, he scanned the garage, narrowing in on the second panel by the electrical box. It was a ruse, for inside were spare keys to all the cars Stark had within its confines (because, as brilliant as the billionaire was, he had a tendency to be a little scatterbrained at times. Particularly when exhausted). It would take time, time that they could not afford to waste, to go back for their own set, and he was not going to hot-wire his girl's car. Jogging over to it, he wrenched at the latches, prying them loose one by one. Under his breath, he muttered, "Sorry, Tony."
A final crack with his elbow, and the box sprang open, the click and clank of the key rings rattling as he dug through them. He knew he was going to get an earful about "borrowing" one of Tony's cars later, but it couldn't be helped. Selecting one, he clicked the sensor, finding that it belonged to one of the vehicles roughly seven spots away. Curling an arm around Holly's back, he shouldered the bag and blankets again, guiding all to the black car.
"An Audi? Really?" Holly crowed, the barest glimmer of a laugh at the back of her voice under the stress. Steve only shot her a look over his shoulder, shrugging slightly as he threw the blanket and the sheet over the seat before helping her in. Once she was situated and the hospital bag was placed on the floor by her feet, he got in on his side, keys jammed in and ignition firing.
"Just hang on," he mumbled, fingers shaking as he punched in the address for the hospital that Dr. Watson had recommended on his phone. Once that was completed, and the annoying computer voice began to drone, he shifted gears, the purr of the engine turning into a growl as he drove them out of the garage and onto Manhattan's streets. Wincing, Holly took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure (and failing, in her mind). The hand not perpetually attached to her swell reached over, dug into the meat of his thigh.
"Do not whip around corners. I don't want our baby to come flying out in here," she demanded, taking in another deep breath as she leaned back in the seat. Nodding in compliance, her husband made sure to drive as safely—and quickly—as he possibly could. She was fairly certain that he would have been running red lights if he thought he could get away with it. (If she wasn't shooting him hard looks when they approached red lights in between the cramps and contractions, he would have done so.) She was trying so hard to not cry out when another contraction ripped through her, but it was obvious how on edge she was. Steve was attempting to maneuver around a cab that was half-jutted from the curb out into the lane when the system on the dashboard lit up. The AI assigned to the vehicle proclaimed that Tony Stark was calling, and with a gruff groan, she slapped at the interface, accepting it over her husband's objections.
"Rogers, what the hell are you doing?" Tony growled, his voice reverberating in the cab. Sharing a glance with Steve, Holly felt both her fists and her jaw stiffen as the older man went on. "JJ tripped the alarm the minute you busted the key box. What—"
Steve opened his mouth to answer, but his wife was faster on the draw, that time.
"Would you rather I had given birth in your garage, Stark?" Holly barked, having none of it. Where she not in the precarious predicament she was in, she would've tempered her tone, but her contractions were kicking up and she was miles away from the hospital that she had planned on giving birth in. To say she was on edge was an understatement. Gritting her teeth, she took in a shallow breath before continuing, "Because that's what would've happened if I waited for Steve to go all the way back upstairs for my car keys."
A bit of an exaggeration, but she wasn't of a mind to downplay the progression of her labor. She tilted her head back against the rest, missing the significant look Steve shot at her in the silence that followed. A cough sound over the line, and she could practically hear Stark's mental backpedaling in the quiet.
"...Fair enough," the billionaire eventually choked. Another second of silence passed, and then he wondered, "Wait, you're in labor now? I thought you weren't due for another few days."
Out the corner of her eye, she caught Steve rolling his eyes, but she cut in yet again.
"Due dates aren't always accurate. And he's coming now."
"Right," Stark muttered. A shift and a shuffle came on his end, and then he cleared his throat. "Okay, well, just do the breathing thing they tell you all to do, and be careful. Both with the kid and the car."
"Thanks, we will," she grunted, tapping the console and ending the call. Glancing over, she spotted Steve's raised eyebrows. Hers shot up as well, and she asked, "What?"
"I have never gotten Tony off the phone that fast before," he crooned, the façade of steeliness pushed back enough for a dry smirk to bloom. "That was downright magical, doll."
Holly snorted, shifting uncomfortably and trying to alleviate the pressure. "I probably freaked him out."
Listening to the prompt of the navigation app and signaling a right turn, Steve lifted a shoulder. "Still magical."
The remainder of the car ride was had in silence, without even the radio playing. It took some doing, but eventually Steve got them both to the hospital in good time. Parking and walking into the emergency area was almost a blur, as Holly was focused on the rising excitement and panic flooding her system. The on-call doctor was to be summoned as they checked her in, vitals taken and Steve proffering the birth plan to them as well. Within an hour, she was relegated to a room, her clothes exchanged for a hospital gown, meters and such strapped over her belly to measure the heart rate of the baby, the lights lowered and music pumping out of the iPod she'd packed filtering into the space. Doctor Emerson, an older man with white-blond hair and a genial grin despite the lateness of the hour, pronounced that with the epidural she'd requested, it was going to take some time until she was ready. Even so, he and the nurses would be on hand, checking in on her at pre-planned increments. When it came time to administer the anesthetic she'd requested, Steve stepped out of the room to get in touch with their loved ones.
Alone in the room for a few moments, Holly tried to regulate her breathing as the epidural began to work its way into her system. It was here, it was time; in only a few short hours (though later on, it would seem like days), she was going to be a mother. The little human life she was responsible for would be out, and she, she...had a mixture of feelings coursing through her. The natural inclination to panic was still there, but it was tempered with excitement and the pound of her heart of anticipation. That there was a layer of fear that she was desperately ignoring almost went without saying, but she could only stew in the feelings as she leaned back against the incline of her bed, her fingers twitching at the hospital robe she was wearing and the blanket that was loose around her legs. It wasn't exactly how she'd wanted it, but she was pragmatic enough to accept that something would not be to her liking, no matter how she strictly followed the plan or not. Not that it stopped her from worrying, just a little bit.
Soon enough, Steve returned, his thumb tapping against the screen of his phone and a sigh leaving his lips.
"I called your dad," he pronounced, and she attempted to sit up a little straighter. Crossing the room to her side, he pocketed the device and took her hand in his. "He's gonna get in touch with your brother and sister for us. Your mom and him are going to try and get an earlier flight out, see if they can leave in the next few hours. Otherwise, they'll be in on Monday as planned."
Holly nodded. At least one thing would go according to plan, if nothing else did. Her mom and dad had offered to come out when her due date came, to help them get settled into the house as a family and assist them in whatever ways they could. They would still be on schedule, she mused.
Mulling that over, she squeezed his fingers and asked, "Sarah?"
"Says she's keeping her fingers crossed for you," he reported, a half-smile stretching his mouth and his free thumb thumping against his pocket. "She'll try to come up, if she can."
"And the team?"
A ragged breath coursed out of his nose. "They're next."
Tipping her chin, she flapped her free hand at him, beckoning him to get on with it. Off her insistence, he pulled his phone out again, dialing fast and waiting for the call to connect. A bare few minutes were passed back and forth between him and the recipient, his eyes widening as he canted his head and responded. When the call was completed, Holly squinted at him, curious about the impressed set of his face.
"Well, evidently word's already prepped to spread at the base," he told her, making her eyebrows shoot up. Cupping a hand in the air, he continued, "Tony took the initiative to share with the team, and it will most likely go from there. He's gonna come in a little while, he and JJ will try to circumvent this leaking to the press for as long as possible."
"Good," Holly retorted, shifting in the bed and palming her swell. "Because if a reporter does get in here, I will not be held responsible for my actions."
Noting the darkening of her gaze, Steve snickered and put his phone away again.
"Gonna deck 'im one, dear?" he asked facetiously. When she raised her chin proudly, he chuckled again. "Then I'll help ya."
A small, pained grin was the answer to that, and it faded all too quickly.
Rubbing her shoulder, Steve couldn't stop himself from asking her, "How are you feeling?"
Her head tipped back as she considered the question, and she shrugged a bit.
"Kind of swimmy. Not in a drugged-out way, but in a 'hey, you're numb from the waist down' way," Holly told him, glossing over the inward turmoil; it was calming a little bit, though still brewing below the surface. Jerking her head towards the area of insertion, she muttered, "The epidural is definitely helping."
Her husband grimaced at that, and she merely lifted her shoulders. The calming piano compilation filled the silence for a few moments, and she curled her toes under the blanket as his thumb brushed back and forth over her sleeve.
"You're still okay with this?" she piped up suddenly, jarring them both out of the quiet. When he spiked an eyebrow, she clarified, "Coaching me?"
In the beginning, they had discussed the lengths at which Steve would go to be involved in the process, how far he was willing to participate. Given his abilities to lead and take command of high-intensity situations, it seemed almost natural to her for him to step in and coach her through it. However, if he wanted to withdraw, let a nurse help her instead, she couldn't blame him for it. He was probably as nervous as she was, and it wouldn't do to have both of them wigging out in that situation. His bright gaze latched onto her for a second or two, his chin raising as he made his decision.
"Too late to turn back now," he responded jovially, fingers threading with hers for a moment. His other hand came up, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear as he confessed, "No place else I'd rather be."
She snorted at that. "Even when it gets crazy and full of fluids in here?"
Steve shot a deadpan glance at her.
"Veteran and Avenger, honey," he reminded her, his thumb hooking towards himself. "I think I can make it through. We both can."
A final squeeze of her fingers, and then he pulled away, the visitor's chair in the far corner retrieved and pushed closer to her bedside. Sitting down in it, he pulled up the hospital bag as well, diving into it to retrieve a stashed tablet. It would take time before she was fully dilated, and neither of them wanted to focus solely on sitting and waiting. Still, even with being shown funny videos on the Internet, and with him reading a few passages out of the eBook he'd been thumbing through, she couldn't put away the strange numbness and the rattling in her brain. It was possibly an hour or two later (time did not seem to be a concept she was aware of, the seconds marked by the beeping of the monitors and the nurses checking her dilation) when her fidgeting finally got the best of her, her inward panic surfacing in a whimper. Hearing it, and seeing the twist of her hands, Steve stashed the tablet, going to her side right away.
"Lay on your left," he commanded softly, bracing his palms along her as she complied. Once she was resting comfortably, he tugged at the ties on the back of the gown, opening it to expose her back. The pads of his fingers ran up and down over her skin, sliding and pressing gently. Deftly, he avoided going too low, his impromptu massage relaxing her bit by bit.
"You remembered," she exhaled, plucking at the sheet below her and letting her eyes fall shut.
"I did pay attention to those videos we watched, believe it or not," he said, thumbs coursing on either side of her spine. She smiled to herself; he really had paid attention, really soaked in what the childbirth series had instructed them upon. Despite his older sensibilities, he'd wanted to be a part of the process, wanted to help her in whatever way he could, and she was grateful for it. Recalling the latter portion of the video compilation, she giggled.
"Even if certain ones of the series made you squirm."
Though she could not see it, she could sense the flat expression decorating his features.
"I did not squirm," he denied, dutifully resuming rubbing her back. Still, his index finger wandered up to her shoulder blade, and he poked her. "And it wasn't just me, doll."
The massage went on for several more minutes, her breathing calmly significantly in that time. When finished, he tied up her gown and helped her roll over again, the comfort staying with her despite feeling physically at odds. Time stretched, and within another hour Emerson had come in with the nurses, joining them on their checks. Removing the blanket fully and peering at her lower half, he quietly conferred with the two women (a redhead in pink scrubs and a blond in green), their pitched voices causing Steve and Holly to share loaded glances.
"Alright, Holly, you're at ten and the baby's head is low enough," Emerson stated, the pleasant expression on his face unwavering. The thump of her heart increased when he gestured for the two nurses who'd come in with him (for the life of her, she could not remember their names) to start preparing her. "We're gonna start you on pushing, okay?"
"O-okay," she stuttered, looking up at Steve, the fear and excitement increasing twofold. He returned it, an encouraging grin flashed at her. From that moment on, it all seemed to charge forward, the sudden flurry of activity catching her off-guard as furniture and belongings were pushed out of the way, the bands on her stomach beeping a little louder. In a trice, her legs were propped up and her husband's hand was in hers, with him out of the chair and standing at her side. The command to push came, and she submitted, the odd sensation of feeling-but-not-feeling radiating from her pelvis. With the pain subdued, she centered on her breathing, on the steady tone crooning into her ear beneath the chatter and the demands of more, more, more. She bore down hard on each pass as she was told to, her fingers clamping so hard around Steve's palm that she was certain she would actually bruise him. Minutes felt like hours as she gritted her teeth, heeding yet another demand of pushing her child out.
"Blow in and out, Holly," one of the nurses suggested then—the one in the pink scrubs—a hand rubbing gently at her shoulder. "You're gonna need to fight the urge for a bit."
Caught in mid-push, caught in the loop of doing so, she felt herself scowl in confusion. "I do?"
"Yeah, sweetheart. You gotta stop," Steve stated bluntly, his free hand coming up to ease her back against the bed. The initial rigidity he met with bled away, soothed by his voice and the stable beeping of the monitors around her. "You're doing so good, Holl. Breathe."
It felt like a lifetime passed before she was given permission to start again, but once she did, she had no intention of stopping. Her nails were almost embedded into Steve's skin as she bore down, determined to have her baby quickly. Even with the epidural, she was unsure how much longer she could keep it up; she knew that she would have been worse off without it, for sure.
"Almost there," Steve grunted after a few minutes, wincing as her fingers clamped around him again. She shot him a glare, and she would have rolled her eyes if she wasn't so preoccupied with her task.
"Like you'd know," she snapped at him, the intensity of the labor getting the better of her in that instant. For his part, her husband merely tipped his head to the left, his free hand splaying between her shoulder blades as the doctor spoke again.
"Another good one and..." he trailed off, coaxing her through it, "his head is free!"
Falling back after the last push, Holly looked up at Steve, his head turned away. Even with his profile to her, she could see the bug-eyed set of his gaze, the rapid paling of his face as he actually watched their son begin to emerge.
"Oh...uh..." he stumbled in his speech, unable to look away. He'd been through war, battles, had seen death and chaos on a nearly regular basis. But he'd never watched a child being born before; it still took him aback. Especially since, in his day, fathers generally weren't present for the births of their children, seeing everything as it happened. But oh, he was certainly present in that moment, and he couldn't drop his gaze. Tugging on his hand, Holly shot a desperate look to the nurse on her left, the woman bidding her to breathe and get ready to push again.
"Steven!" she cried, loud enough to make him jump. Pulled out of his trance, he turned his attention away from the emerging baby back to her.
"Right here, right here," he spluttered, squeezing her hand back in reassurance. Another command, another push, and then the shoulders were out, Holly's puffing gasps increasing on the final leg.
"One more, Holly," Emerson declared, and with a last intake of breath, she bore down, the bare feeling of the little body being expelled from her own rushing away. Sharp cries began to ring in the space, and she fell back against the bed, inhaling deeply as her son was raised up. All squirming limbs and puffed cheeks, slicked hair and slathered in fluid, but he was there. He was there, and she could not help the sob of happiness that bubbled up from her chest. "And there! Look at the hair on this little guy."
Through the haze, she heard Steve's voice telling her she'd done it, how she'd done so well, the pleasure and joy in his tone impossible to ignore. A kiss was pressed to her sweaty temple, and she leaned towards it, her hand squeezing less painfully around his as she did so.
"Ready to cut the cord, Daddy?" Pink Scrubs inquired of him, and Steve jerkily nodded.
"I, uh, yes."
Once the clamp and cut were done, Steve's hand shaking slightly as he did so, the baby was taken to be cleaned, his little cries pulling directly on Holly's heartstrings. Stats were taken, the time of birth announced at being 8:23 in the morning of the 24th, and her eyebrows shot up. She'd been at the hospital for only five hours? At the back of her mind, she was musing over the fact that epidurals extended the labor for any mother; she must have been a lot closer than she'd first assumed when they'd arrived. Steve hovered between her and the nurses, with him eventually settling as they brought the newborn back. Automatically, her arms opened, accepting the little bundle that was the baby when he was offered. Holly held him close, marveled at his form and the puff of his pink cheeks, and her heart swelled even further.
"Oh, look at you, baby boy," she said, sniffing hard and trying to quell the tears that were rising. Little fingers, little toes, all in the right places and all so good. The fragile little skull in her palm was warm, soft, his birth-darkened hair tickling her skin. He'd since stopped wailing, his eyes opening a little to stare up at his mother. Giving a little breathy chuckle, she murmured, "Look at him, Steve."
"I am, doll," he rasped, his throat thickening as he stepped closer. One arm braced along the bed above her head, and with his other, he reached out towards their son. Extending his pinky, he smiled broadly as he placed it by the little one's hand, the tiny fingers gripping around his much larger one. Strong, their little guy was strong. "Hey, buddy."
They were allowed a few more minutes with the baby, reveling in his health and arrival before the nurses took him back. They were to do a check on his vitals, and then he'd be back with them. One of them went to the corner of the room designated to do so, while the other took position by the doctor again. A press on her belly, and she was quietly asked to push once more, the last of the process shunted out of her body. Not that she recalled much about it; her focus was on the little guy, one eye on the nurse caring for him even as she pushed out the last bits. Shortly, the nurse returned with the baby, all swaddled up and capped for the time being, but Emerson said there were still a few more things to attend to. Tearing had happened, and they would need to stitch her up swiftly to prevent infection. Cutting a glance at her husband, she nodded.
"Hold him while they..." she implored him, flicking her eyes to the doctor and back. A tray of tools was at hand, and she knew what was coming next. "I don't want to drop him."
Glimpsing the tray himself, Steve frowned and inclined his head.
"Sure. It's the least Daddy can do, right?" he said, taking their newborn from the nurse and cradling him carefully, supporting the head as he'd learned. The other nurse (the one in the dark green scrubs) had the foresight to pull one of the visitor's chairs back away from the wall, tapping his elbow gently and nodding for him to sit down. Thanking her, Steve sat and looked even closer at his son. The little pink face was scrunched up, the slits of his eyes blinking against the drops in them. He held him close to his chest, intent on keeping him warm just as the nurses had stated he needed to be. One callused pad ran over the smooth skin of the little one's brow, tiny lips puckering and puffing breaths taken. The warmth in his heart grew with every passing second, the beeps and soft chatter around him disappearing as he held their baby. The lump in his throat grew as he stared on the boy, on the child he had feared he would never meet or have all those years ago. He was there, really there, in his grasp, so small and soft, and alive. Blinking rapidly, it took a few attempts to clear his throat. Inhaling deeply, he looked up, and the adoration grew exponentially.
"Look at your mother."
Holly turned her head to look at him, her hands knotting into the bed as she met his gaze. The sweat on her face, on her body was starting to cool, her hair was a ratty mess. The top of her hospital gown was skewed (not to mention her lower half having been on full display for far too long), and she felt so numb and so tired. But her husband looked at her like she was made of gold, of every precious thing he could think of. It was like, in his mind, she had performed a herculean feat, and not something that millions of other women had done.
"She's amazing," he proclaimed, unabashed.
She snorted ruefully, keeping her attention on him and not on the pull of the stitches being woven.
"Didn't exactly save the world," she pointed out, feeling a slight tug as the doctor finished with his task.
"No," Steve agreed, nuzzling the crown of their son's head as he countered, "you brought a life into it. You brought him."
Steadily, he rose, holding the newborn securely as he crossed back to his wife's side, bending and pressing a strong, heartfelt kiss to her lips.
"So much better," he breathed against them, and she closed her eyes in contentment.
xXxXxXx
Leaning an arm against the wall, Steve tiredly slid change into the vending machine before him, punching the buttons for the snacks he wanted. After the last several hours, he definitely wanted a treat.
Once the initial vitals for both mother and baby were performed, the new commander was informed of the arrival of a friend. Tony, it seemed, had gotten there just as Holly had started pushing, having been escorted through a back entrance to avoid the flurry of reporters and media representatives that were outside the facility. Inevitably, word had leaked about the imminent arrival of the Rogers child, the First Avenger's progeny good fodder for any blog or column out there. While the hospital did employ its own security, it was clear that more would be needed, and the tech genius assessed the situation accordingly. The Iron Legion, having been relegated to storage for the last several months, was summoned, stationed at the entrances and exits just in case anyone tried to get the run-around.
Of course, that would not be enough to appease the masses, and so Rogers had to leave his wife for a moment, take care of the issue at hand. Cameras and phones were thrust into his face, and Tony had almost acted like a personal bodyguard himself, arms out and shoving so that the people maintained a minimum of three feet. Some tried to weed out the gory details of the birth, but when Steve did nothing but tell them that his son and his wife had both come through, and that he appreciated the support of the others in their lives, they were forced into a retreat.
With the media vultures taken care of (Stark's words, not his), he led the way back inside, dully noting how it was barely mid-morning. It seemed like the day was stretching on. Tony followed him, determined to be the first to visit the little guy. It was the least they could do, since they borrowed one of his cars. It was said with a smirk, his expression holding little actual hostility, and Rogers knew that things were truly being mended between them. By then, Holly had been cleaned up, her face washed and her hospital gown secured before they'd entered the room. With permission granted, the tech genius made his way in at Steve's bidding, his wife's eyebrows arching in surprise to see him there. After giving her a careful hug in congratulations, the older man made his way to the bassinet, hesitating at the edges. Although both parents had given him permission to hold the little guy, he was still nervous to do so. It took some aid from Steve to guide him into his arms, but soon enough Tony Stark was cradling the baby, a small, genuine grin on his lips.
"Cute kid. Must get it all from you," he told Holly, the teasing glance he shot Steve making the blond man roll his eyes to the ceiling. A few more minutes of gentle rocking, and then the youngest member of the Rogers family was placed back in his bassinet, another round of quiet congratulations given to them both before he left.
With the billionaire gone back home and the drones still ringing the premises, Steve was finally able to catch a breath, catch a break. Retrieving the chips and candy bars he'd purchased, he mowed down on the treats, determined to be finished before he went back to Holly's room. One after another was devoured, and he'd barely managed to get the last bar wrapper open before his phone began to chime at him. Stifling a groan, he pulled out the device, a wan smile on his lips when he noted that it was a video call. Accepting it, the screen lit up with the faces of his team members, his friends. His family, his heart whispered at him. It appeared that they had gathered around a tablet, an edge of glass just beyond it telling him that it was propped up on a table in the communal space. Natasha, Bucky, and Wanda had commandeered chairs, while Sam, Scott, and the Vision pressed in between where they could. Greetings were volleyed between the two devices, the tinny echo of the voices calling out to him ignored.
"How is everything? How's Holly?" Natasha asked, not willing to beat around the bush any longer than she had to. The others commiserated, questions about the state of his wife bouncing around for a moment.
"Everything's fine, Holly's alright," he reported, the truth flooding him with relief all over again. Until he considered another truth, and he frowned slightly. "Had to get a couple stitches, and she's exhausted, but she's good."
Bucky sucked in a breath at that, sharing a glance with Natasha. "Yikes."
"I thought you said everything was fine," Wilson said. An eyebrow arched, and he wondered, "Stitches?"
Beside him, Steve caught Scott's wince in sympathy, but the other man did not hasten to extrapolate for the others. Instead, he folded his arms and waited for the commander to field that one.
"Stitches aren't all that...uncommon," he began to explain, hesitation in his voice. He didn't really want to discuss it, but perhaps oblique referencing would be enough. Coughing, he muttered, "When things tear—"
Palms raised then, and he paused as his friend shook his head.
"No offense, man, but I think an air of mystery should remain around a few things," Sam recommended, looking a little ill at the implications. While it was one thing to see his teammates injured and bleeding, it was another to think of Holly in that regard, and from the possible location of said injuries...it was best to stop thinking about it altogether. Wanda's green eyes wandered up to him, and she let her own expression tighten in empathy. Rogers cupped a hand over his mouth to hide the smile of discomfort that had cropped up, waiting until it had fully vanished before dropping his fingers.
"Okay, fair enough."
"And the baby? How is he?" Bucky inquired then, the rest of the team subconsciously leaning forward as one for the answer. He had to bite off a chuckle at that, instead turning his mind to the littlest of the family.
"He's...he's so good." Steve had to stop himself from declaring him 'perfect.' No child was, he understood that all too well. He couldn't allow himself to tempt fate regarding his little boy, proclaiming him as such, but it was nearly true. All eight pounds, three ounces, and twenty inches of him were just right. Ten fingers, ten toes, no apparent defects or illnesses thus far. The doctor and nurses had examined him, reported back how healthy he was, right out of the gate, and one of Steve's deep-seated fears began to fall away. They were checking his vitals at regular increments, and so far, so good. He was not sick, not wheezy...not like his father had been. And he would never, ever, stop thanking God and goodness for that. Sniffing, he swiped at his nose with his free hand, trying to dispel the mist that had gathered in his eyes. "He's..."
Natasha tipped her chin forward, a flicker of emotion fluttering in her own irises.
"Any chance we can get a sneak peek of him?" she asked, attempting to move past the maudlin display (all jokes aside, it was quite something to see the evidence of Steve's intense feelings on the matter, and she didn't know if she wished to handle it longer than she could). Sniffing again, Rogers swiped at his eyes once, the phone shifting with him as he moved.
"Sure. We gotta be quiet; they're both asleep right now," he told them, fishing out the set of ear buds he'd been using beforehand out of his back pocket. Plugging in the jack and stuffing the buds into his ears, he was able to circumvent a possible wakening by doing so. Treading back the way he had come, he told them, "They're catching up on it before the grandparents get in on Monday."
Scott's snort was audible. "Yeah, don't wanna risk Mama Bear's wrath so soon by waking either of them."
"No kidding," Steve whispered, cracking the door open little by little once he'd arrived at the correct one. Poking his head around, he took stock of Holly, asleep in the bed, her body turned towards the bassinet to the side. Silently, he entered and shut the door behind him, treading lightly over to the clear-sided bassinet. The little guy was still out cold, all swaddled in his blue blanket. The tiny blue cap on his head had ridden up slightly, and Steve took a moment to gently tug it into place. His son wiggled a little, his tiny mouth opening in an O for a second, but he kept on sleeping. Relieved that he hadn't woken either of them, he flipped the phone's screen to face his son and murmured, "Here he is."
Small intakes of breath greeted his ears, and he barely restrained himself from smirking.
"He's precious! Look at the little cap," the younger Maximoff gushed into the earphones, more enthusiastically than Steve would have supposed she would be. Laughing silently to himself, he caught her happy crow of, "Mazel tov."
Keeping the camera focused on his son, he smiled. "Thanks, Wanda."
The Vision's voice cut in, and though he couldn't see it, the android's eyes squinting slightly. "It looks like the human equivalent of a burrito."
At that, Steve turned the phone back to face himself, a deadpan expression overtaking his features. Frowning, Scott reached around behind Sam, socking the Vision in the shoulder. Granted, it didn't do much to actually hurt him (in fact, given the way the other fellow started to shake out his hand afterward, it hurt Lang more), but the point was made and Viz tipped his head bashfully.
"But he's a cute, sleepy burrito," Scott amended for the android, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding sagely, one father to another. Natasha's bright gaze lit up then, and she leaned forward in her seat.
"What's his name?" she asked, pressing her case now that the kid was finally born. Steve and Holly had refused to elude to possible names during the pregnancy, not once letting it slip past their lips in her presence. It had bothered her, and her own digging had gotten her nowhere. She had to give them credit for their tenacity, in that regard. Jabbing a finger at the screen on her end, she asserted, "No sense keeping it secret now."
Steve canted his head at her point, and he cleared his throat, gaze flickering to the name card tucked in on a clear tray on the side.
"Grant Joseph Rogers," he announced, pride and relief evident in his voice. He could finally say it, finally call his boy by his name to others. Holly had insisted on using Grant, rather liking his middle name enough to do so, but the middle name was Steve's choice. It had been up in the air for a long while, but eventually, he found that he could think of nothing but his father's name. The grandfather the little guy would never meet, but would help carry the legacy of the family he'd started.
Once told, Nat turned to Wanda, the two of them discussing whether or not any of the team would be able to get down to the city before Holly and Grant were discharged. Scott and Sam posited that flying visits could be performed, so long as both mother and baby were up for it, and no missions called them away. The Vision nodded along with them, but Steve's eyes were drawn to his oldest friend, sitting by quietly. Bucky had sat back in his chair, arms crossed and his expression contemplative. No doubt he was processing it all, considering the changes in life that had come to each one of them. Steve himself had been doing that for the last few hours, and would most likely keep considering it as the day went on. Still, that wasn't to say the changes were unwelcome.
Spying the concern that was flashing over the commander's face, the new captain straightened in his seat, and he allowed a smile to come through. Perhaps Barnes had realized that, too.
"Nice work, punk," Bucky murmured, an eyebrow barely arching.
"Thanks," Steve returned. Smirking, he tacked on belatedly, "Jerk."
When the call ended a few minutes later, he dropped the phone and ear buds onto the cot that had been provided for him in the room. Sitting down, he blew out a low breath, his hands scrubbing over his face to dispel the tiredness that had cropped up. Deciding that a rest was in order, he took out the candy in his pocket; tossing it, it landed on the far rolling tray with a soft thump. Grabbing the edges of the cot, he rolled it closer to Holly's bed. She hadn't moved much in her sleep, save that her arm was now dangling off the side. Tenderly, he gripped it, leaning over and pecking her fingers in mute thanks and love before setting it back on the bed. The corner of her mouth twitched, but otherwise she remained asleep. Rolling onto his back, he crooked his arms under his head, the slight incline allowing him to glimpse the bassinet and his sleeping son in the last moments he was awake.
There was no better way to spend a Sunday with his wife and his boy, in his opinion.
A/N:...Grant Joseph Rogers, born July 24th, 2016.
I know, Grant's not terribly original, but when I first plotted out the idea of Steve and Holly having a baby, there was no question. It has been Grant, from Day One, and I couldn't shake it; that boy has no other first name in my mind. And then Joseph, for Steve's dad. Some might have a bone to pick with me not using James, but hey, that would really be cliché, huh? ;)
I tried to keep the childbirth process as clean and non-graphic as I possibly could, due to the rating of this story. Trust me, it could've gotten a lot grosser (and all the mothers out there are going, "Hell yeah, it can, you wimpy writer!"). The miracle of life...has a lot of fluids and such involved—and that's put mildly. I'm trying to keep to the T rating as much as I can. Also, I am not a mother myself, so any information I have regarding childbirth has been gleaned from numerous websites, and a couple of accounts from coworkers and a nurse. It may not be 100% accurate, but I have tried my best.
Liberties were also taken with the publishing parties thing. Launch parties do happen on occasion, but not as much as they used to.
As you have probably surmised, the end of By First Light is right around the corner, most likely the next chapter. And I will reiterate that there is a fourth installment coming. I will need a little time to work on both, so the next chapter might be late next week. Thank-yous and such will happen then, but still, I will say that I appreciate you all for sticking around.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Audi, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!